


Second Thoughts

by toomuchdiscourse (orphan_account)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, M/M, Panic Attacks, jefferson has social anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 07:34:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10212638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/toomuchdiscourse
Summary: Thomas Jefferson has a panic attack for the first time in his life. Thankfully, Hamilton isn't that much of an asshole after all.





	

Thomas felt his chest tighten. He didn't know why.

“Wh-” He tried to speak, but his throat closed on him. Something ice cold stabbed his chest, robbing his lungs of air. Thomas gasped, but somehow he couldn't breathe. His vision dimmed, his mind spun; and he still couldn't quite figure out what was wrong. 

Hamilton stared at him- he was always staring, in anger or disgust or smug joy, but staring nonetheless- but now his eyes were wide. Knowing Hamilton, they were wide so he could take in every detail of Thomas falling apart like a poorly made doll from simple heckling by some asshole congressional aide he didn't even know. 

“Oh my God!” Hamilton shouted, something worried in his voice. Worried for what? Thomas couldn't think straight, heart hammering too loudly in his ears. “Come on guys! Move along! Fuck off!” Hamilton shooed the crowd, baring his teeth. Something slight released itself in Thomas' gut, the air suddenly a shade less heavy.

“Here, let's go over this way where it's quieter,” Hamilton's voice didn't sound like him at all, soft and cautious. It was strange enough that Thomas felt himself following automatically. “Can I touch you?” The question by his ear was quiet and polite. Thomas nodded pathetically. 

A warm hand immediately splayed gently across his back, nudging Thomas forward. They entered a side room, some unused office space with a dusty desk and chair. Hamilton pushed him into the chair. “Just breathe for a bit. Long and slow, if you can.”

Thomas didn't know what to do, so he tried to follow Hamilton's direction. Whatever it was that had his chest in a vice grip eased slightly with each exhale, far too slowly. Thomas rubbed tears from his eyes- he didn't even remember crying. 

“Shit, I don't know what I'm doing,” Hamilton half-giggled, half-chuckled; a high, worried pitch. “Do you need me to get you anything? Like water, tea, something? Do you need me to leave? I can get why you would- oh, sorry, I should shut up.” Hamilton fidgeted, lifting his hands and then forcefully settling them in his lap. 

Hamilton was an asshole, and usually the last person Thomas wanted to see him like this, but the idea of him leaving seemed suddenly unbearable. Thomas shot a hand out to his sleeve. “D-don't,” he forced out- throat still not working properly. 

Hamilton stared, but somehow managed to not comment. Instead, he placed a hand on Thomas', the one grabbing at his sleeve. Thomas latched onto the hand. The contact sent tiny bursts of warmth up Thomas' arm, chasing away more of the panic crowding his body. 

Silence settled between them, broken only by Thomas' deep breaths. Hamilton continued to say nothing, forcing Thomas to address the situation first, when his lungs and throat were finally under his control again. “Tha- that was something,” Thomas winced at his own nonsense words. “I don't,” He cut himself off for another breath. “I don't know what that was.” 

Hamilton's eyes had never left him, but now his brows furrowed. “That was a panic attack, wasn't it?” There wasn't even a hint of derision in his voice, just honest confusion. In any other circumstance, Thomas would have assumed it a lie. 

“A panic attack,” Thomas repeated, instead. Hamilton nodded, like it made perfect sense. “I've never had a panic attack in my life.” No, he'd worked long and hard to get past his social anxiety to become the charismatic force he was today, but he'd never had a panic attack. He'd be damned if he was having one now, over something so dumb. 

“I mean, I'm not going to tell you what you're feeling, but that's what it looked like from over here. Are you okay now, though?” 

Thomas stared into Hamilton's earnest eyes. They were soft and warm, like the hand holding his. Thomas dropped it like he'd suddenly been scalded. “Why are you being nice?” Thomas hissed, squinting. 

Hamilton slapped a hand over his mouth, but it wasn't quick enough to hide the instinctive grin, nor was it muffling enough to hide the snort. “I can be, occasionally, you know.” 

“Not to me,” Thomas retorted, then winced. That sounded a lot more hurt than he'd intended. “Wait, you know what I mean!” 

Hamilton made another noise, suspiciously like a giggle, before moving his hand back down. “Yeah, I guess I do. But you were having a panic attack, that's different. I'm not that much of an asshole, you know.”

Thomas didn't know. “Sure,” he said anyways. 

“Well, if you're okay, I better head out. Wouldn't want anyone to get any ideas.” Hamilton grinned, waved, and swiftly left before Thomas could say anything. 

The crush, that had laid dormant once Hamilton had opened his mouth and shown just how little of a chance Thomas had, raised its head cautiously. It was too late for no one to get any ideas. Thomas had a few already.


End file.
